


Completion

by Fangu



Series: Balfran smut (and kink) collection [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Game(s), Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangu/pseuds/Fangu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is taking what is rightfully hers, before it will no longer be there for her to take. This is very cheesy. But there's porn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completion

Fran is resting against a wonderful old chestnut tree, watching the sun set behind the ghostly, towering remains of The Sky Fortress Bahamut. Her long ears relax in the playful evening light, her feet covered by the cloak of a deceased Archadian pilot resting in his airship grave which Balthier stumbled upon as he was carrying her through the smoke across the vastness of burned fields.

That was two days ago - her feet is working again, but she is still tired. The debris that fell on her somehow managed to hit not one, but two apparent sweet spots on her body: One piece hit her a little above and to the right of the junction of her shoulder blades, the other being a sharp piece of shrapnel hitting her on the shell of one of her ears, finding that one small weakness in her armour, knocking her out for a couple of seconds. It was a one in a thousand chance, she thinks, for her to be hit like that, but so was Balthier getting them both out of the Bahamut alive.

For that one in a thousand chance she is happy to suffer the other.

Balthier is off finding them something to eat, so she is left alone having time to contemplate the events of the last few days, but also her life in general. Despite hunting, Balthier has left her his gun for protection. She strikes the beautiful engravings on its side. In many ways this fine piece of old but well functioning weaponry reminds her of herself and her own journey, and she wonders what is next for both her and this gun.

“Wherever”, Balthier had said two days ago - “however long it takes us to get back to the Strahl. It’s no hurry, I’ll let Vaan play with her for a while. She’ll probably enjoy being boy-handled for a bit”, he’d smirked. Fran had smiled her usual silent smile, the one she’s sent his way so many times before when there’s something obvious in the air not needed to be formed into words.

She wonders how Vaan’s life will be, the kind of man he’ll grow into, now that he temporarily has the Strahl, and less temporarily, Penelo. She thinks back, very far back, about how Penelo too is going to be boy-handled; hopefully that will be temporary as well. The two of them are barely in the start of their short Hume-life, but has experienced so much already. Fran has lived much longer than them, so much longer than any of the Hume’s she’s spent the last few months with. Yet for her experience, she doesn’t feel much the wiser than those two teenage orphans. Experience comes with life; wisdom however, comes with something else. She is not sure of what. Maybe it’s something you have to be born with - like Jote. Her older sister always seemed to be able to choose the right path for herself, Fran herself being stubborn and unwilling to bend to anyone’s rules but her own ever since she could flick her ears.

Fran shifts. Sitting still for too long always leaves her restless, even if she’s coping with a slight head trauma. The last two days, being in this void with no Strahl, and no purpose, has left both her and Balthier a little muffled. They’re not used to not being swamped in work, or monsters, or princesses trying to take back their kingdoms. He takes care of the practicalities, including telling her to sit down and do nothing, while she sits and does nothing. When he is away, she relaxes to the point of nodding off, always staying sharp in case of the usual beast or two. Mostly they leave her alone. She is far from dead, and a wounded Viera gives off a different scent than a wounded Hume. She is content she doesn’t have to worry.

She is rested, she is fed, she is healing.

She is bored.

She puts her right hand under the cloak, striking her stomach. Lets it slide down, further down, tickling the thick, stubborn hair on her lower abdomen.

She hasn’t done this for a while now, hasn’t had the chance to be by herself for many days. Contrary to what Hume males like to joke about, Viera are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, it’s just a matter of keeping the claws out of the way. Most Viera don’t feel the urge for self satisfaction anyway - when the urge gets strong, Viera breed, venturing deep into the Golmore Jungle, seeking out their male counterparts, who, being built quite complimentary, make hands or claws superfluous.

Viera can have a hard time finding their completion with a Hume. He either needs to be well built or skilled with his thumbs. It’s why she so rarely seeks out to remedy her faint needs.

It is also a reason she was instinctively interested in Basch the first time she saw him. Although skinny and grey looking, his height and frame still appeared regal, his shoulders broad, his calloused hands strong. For some time she enjoyed appreciating him in silence - walking a few feet behind him, or even next to him, exchanging a few words, savouring his musky smell; watching him as he sharpened his sword as they were settling for the night. By each passing day he filled out a bit more, making him look more and more like the grand captain she knew him to be by reputation. She would offer him the leftovers of her food, he would always decline, even though she knew from her own experience with famine and the look in his eyes he would take it if it wasn’t for courtesy. So she would leave it somewhere out of Vaan’s reach, smiling contently as Basch finished the remains as he sat by himself in quiet as the sun was setting.

So handsome, and so hungry.

She never got a chance to test him. Still, if she was to choose a Hume to share bodily pleasures with, she would have chosen Basch. She suspects he wouldn’t be particularly experienced, and not very adventurous either, but he would be polite, he would let her take charge (some Hume’s thinks a female in the lead as unfitting) and he would most likely possess the physicality to let her finish - if, that is, he could wait for her. She could train him into it though, she is sure. She finds this thought amusing.

It is too late for that anyway. Basch isn't with them anymore.

Balthier was never an option. It isn’t his physicality; for his height (and confidence) she suspects he isn’t poorly off - it’s his personality. Serious, stoic and patient is not the first words one would use to portray Balthier. Playful, rather; impatient, improvising, random. And even if he is with more than enough girls, and regularly (when they are available), she has a feeling he wouldn’t be able to endure her undeniable and very much scenic build for climax long enough to wait for her. Balthier does everything with passion - he never drinks mediocre wine and feels content by it (although he would settle if he lacked the gil), he’ll try different ones until he finds the one that best pleases his tongue, and then he will devour it with great fondness. He will find his favorite gun and cherish it. He will find a leather vest he likes and have different seamstresses work on it in different ports until it is just right. When he finds something he appreciates, he celebrates it with too much passion - she suspects it wouldn’t take very long to tickle his senses so much he’d be done. Fran has had enough half satisfying lays with Humes. She is looking for completion, or no pleasure at all.

It isn’t very often she feels The Need - Viera mate much more rarely than Humes. But it’s been some time now, years to count. It’s an itch in the back of her mind, once forgettable, now growing stronger for each passing year, to the point where she finds herself having irrational thoughts about it - she thinks indecently about new people she meets, and lately these thoughts come before her regular sensitive thinking, like trying to read their character or scent out bad intentions. Sometimes she wonders if this is what it is like to be a Hume male - clouded by your own need for bravery and breeding.

Her needs are of course impossible to read, especially for Humes - however had Balthier leaned in towards her and blown on her ears _just so_ , he might have noticed the hum in the back of her throat, a hum she would not be able to, or want to, conceal.

She finds herself imagining this scenario disturbingly often.

She is almost at the point where she’s willing to let the whole completionist thing out the window - but only almost. She longs for the feeling of finishing, and finishing with someone, her completion out of her control, brought on to her by the touch of someone else. She thinks this is a bodily need first and foremost, a longing for a different kind of finish, but she can’t help thinking that over the recent years she’s been craving companionship in general. She used to prefer doing everything by herself, used to appreciate being alone above everything else. At this very moment she is by herself, and would rather she was not.

She has no idea if Balthier would even have his way with her if he could - years ago she is sure he would (years has passed and she still remembers the baffled look on his face the first time he saw her) and even though she thinks he still would, she can’t know for sure.

Fran has lived long enough to know everything is fleeting. No creature lives forever, no kingdom rules forever, no friendship lasts forever. Life is a series of events, the world constantly twisting the timeline and fates of the people in it. When she was a young Viera, she would find something and keep it in a static state - be it friendship, a principle, a way of living. She believed she could keep a log straight on the river, desperate to control her fate instead of fate and laws controlling her. Over the years she’s realized this is an impossible task, and should you succeed against all odds, you will have missed the opportunities presented by a log with a will of its own. She has accepted change beyond her control.

She values her partnership with Balthier over most other things in her life. She is content with the present situation. But she knows that the way things are now, they will not stay forever. Balthier is a Hume, his life span is short, and she has known enough Humes to know his interests will change as the years go by. The type of leaf he prefers, the women he likes to bed, the ideas he has of politics; they will all change, even likely start blowing in the completely opposite direction. He will eventually want a different life - for now he values his freedom above all else and believes he will stay this way forever, but she has watched him over the years and knows he has been growing tired of wearing this mask, most recently proved by the events in the Sun Cryst and the Sky Fortress Bahamut. Balthier has settled his past, and settling a past is a need more common in adult men than young ones. He is changing.

She never speaks of this to him, and why would she - it would be like telling a one-legged man he is missing a leg: it would be stating the obvious, insulting him while doing so, and also pointing out something that is irreversible. Balthier never asks for her council when he doesn’t want it, even if he knows she is more the wiser than him, and neither does she give it - it is part of the mutual respect they have for each other.

In return she gets to spend her days with someone who makes her feel young, makes her feel alive; Balthier might be reckless and naive, but it’s what keeps her days interesting. His energy is also contagious. His youth speaks of life, and it is life she has always craved, life, change; anything that doesn’t reek of stagnation, boundaries, and what to her once seemed as meaningless laws.

She is not afraid of the change any physical relationship would do to their dynamics - other things will eventually lead it to change anyway. Balthier will one day want a stable life, and she believes, although he is liable to state otherwise, he would not want it with her. Hume males, although able to repress it if fascinated enough with a female - for which they would sacrifice pride, gil and wits - will eventually want to be the leading man in their lives. They will want to rule their own backyard and live symbiotic with someone who supports their ideas and not constantly challenge them. For now Fran supports Balthier, but only out of convenience. He cannot mess it up for her more than she is in power of doing herself - she was perfectly able to put herself in a fix before she met him. But there will be a day where she will challenge his ideas instead of tagging along. Balthier will change, he will grow into a man, or, what a Hume “man” of a decent age is to Viera. He will want to marry, he will want to live a peaceful life, and he will want things she can not give him - neither appreciation of trivialities, nor children. At least she doesn’t know of any successful breeding between a Hume and a Viera, and if one existed, she does not know she would want it. All her life she has shun away from any form of tie, Balthier and the Strahl being the only exception. She has been like this for as long as she can remember, and she does not know what would make her want to change it.

Regardless of this, Balthier is still Balthier, a man who she enjoys for many aspects (some to purely her own amusement and not his), just not for the purpose of sexuality. Fran has lived long enough to not feel shame about anything - imagining the unimaginable is only natural - so she has pictured him now and again while slipping a clawed hand under her sheets, imagining his musky, sweaty smell - for some periods of time he is the only person she has seen or smelled for months, so it’s only natural - visualising his smirk, the way his skin flushes after they’ve legged for miles escaping a barbed enemy or a newly robbed petitioner. Mostly when her fantasies involve Balthier, he is the one being pleasured, the one taken to the brink until explosion, gaze liquid and upper lip curled - but for a real time event she wants more than a pleasured partner, she wants infinite pleasure for herself.

A slight ruffle in the grass a few yards away reveals her object of pondering being back from his trek. From years of partnership of lurking around in jungles and city waterways she knows within a heartbeat it’s him. As usual she picks up his presence before he thinks she is able to.

He is bee-stung, sunburnt, obviously hungry and in a mood, but he does bring game, a lizard typed beast which they skin and cook over a small fire, Balthier cursing their food and retelling the events of wading through “mud, mud and more stinking mud” to kill the damn thing they are about to eat.

“How’s the head?” he asks after the meal as he’s loosening his vest, grimacing at his yet again filthy cuffs. He pulls the vest over his head, rolls it up and lies back using it as support for his head.

“Well enough to march properly tomorrow.”

Balthier is unbuttoning his shirt. “Good. Don’t want to keep our lady waiting.”

“And then, to where do you go?” she asks, yet again leaning back against the chestnut tree, her filled stomach murmuring content.

Balthier chews on a piece of leather strap as well as her question, failing to notice the ‘you’ in place of the ‘we’. “Got any suggestions?” He pauses. “There probably isn’t any need to hurry… it’s just,” he lifts an arm, “this. For saving the day I’m surprisingly filthy.”

“There’s no need to wait around. You can go tomorrow, just leave me the gun, or find me a decent bow.” She says it calm and matter of factly, years of practice of handling whatever the outcome may be. Whatever his answer is, it cannot touch her.

He scoffs at her, then shoots her a taunting smile. “I said I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I? What kind of gentleman leaves his lady out in the Rabanastre backwater countryside.”

“I thought the Strahl was your lady.”

His eyes shine. “You’re both handy in your own way.” His expression grows uncertain then. “Do you mean to go somewhere?”

She looks out towards the mountains in the far distance, thinking of Eruyt, where she can never go, to Rabanastre, where she would feel closed in. She thinks of the Strahl, of flying. She think of Balthier, who wants to go somewhere, but doesn’t know where to. He’ll want to fly, and then he’ll grow tired of it, and he will most likely never part with the Strahl. There will probably be other partners, other airships. It is with them she will stay, until her age has her do otherwise.

“Fran”, he says.

“Fran”, he says again when she does not reply, this time more annoyed than worried.

She can not tell him what is on her mind. She can not say to him that in a few years time, he’ll be a different man. He will protest. And maybe he won’t change, maybe he will be the same Balthier, roaming the skies, searching for treasure. But she feels in her heart he will not. He is growing up. Like the sun set behind the mountains, this partnership will end. But for all she knows it will, he does not, and he will not see it, because that is the way of the Hume, living for one moment to the next, not realizing the passage of time, of life.

Right before a candle in the Viera village burns out, it flashes violently, like it refuses to go out without leaving a trace of evidence it was once there. She will not have Balthier remember her only as one of his mechanics, one of the co-pilots he used to employ.

She is taking what is rightfully hers, before it will no longer be there for her to take.

Under the pilot coat she unlaces her boots and pulls them off. Balthier barely recognizes her action as he’s busy trying to soften that piece of leather he’s fiddling with. Boots off, she folds the coat away from her legs and stands up. Her helmet is already off to make resting her head more comfortable. Bare foot, she walks over to him, white, stubborn curls framing her face. Just when she sits down across his legs right below his knees does he offer her a look.

It is a puzzled look. Yet she sees something there, as if the normality he’s always treating her with is a mask for something else.

He’ll want it. She knows now.

He doesn’t take his eyes off her as she loosens her bodice by opening it from the side. She even dares to look at him with a taunting glare. He stares at her face for a second, then stares at her chest as she pulls down her bodice, revealing her breasts, then removes her jacket, his surprise utterly evident on his face. And completely charming.

“Fran”, he says, mouth dry. Then, “Now?” as if he might have expected something like this tomorrow, or the day after - anything but this very moment.

She leans back, looking at him, waiting for some kind of confirmation. He only stares until it is as if he snaps out of it, sits up, then puts his hands on her waistline and firmly pulls her closer, until she is sitting in his lap and feels the proof of her obvious effect on him through her bodice. It sends little firecrackers up through her spine and has her exhale that little extra.

“Well then”, he grins, finally returned to his cheekier side, the role she’s seen him take when he’s with girls he likes. The next moment he kisses her, mouth hungry and warm. She feels his stubble against her lips. As she kisses him back he moans into her mouth, one hand sliding up her back, the other closing over her breast, flicking a thumb slowly over a stiffing nipple.

She pulls his shirt out of his trousers, pulling it off him, then she leans into him. The feel of skin on skin is nothing but wonderful, a sensation she hasn’t felt for the longest time. She throws her head back and he kisses her neck, her shoulders, her breasts - little veins of blood pumping on his temples, his skin flushed red.

How not strange at all, she thinks, this feels. With him. It’s a dance she hasn’t done in a while, but her body hasn’t forgotten. She knows his smell - it’s just new, somehow, different, having his familiar scent so close.

Her mind is clouding more for each passing moment, her desire growing heavy and desperate. He must pick up on it, because he’s tugging at what’s left of her bodice, making her head spin when it dawns on her what is happening. She leans forward over him so he can pull it off her, sitting back down when he’s done - the sensation of being even closer to him making her gasp. She kisses him again, licking his cheek, kissing his ear - “I really want this” she whispers into it, as if it isn’t painfully obvious already. He grins, his expression naked, his breath heavy, his eyes closing - “uhhn”, he words, “so do I.”

He puts a hand to his mouth and wets his fingers. He then touches her, softly, slowly, his fingers wet not only from his own moisture. Her brain screams an affirmation - he is doing this right, and she is dying for it. Her movements must be quite telling regarding her wants as he soon slides a finger inside her, a sensation she hasn’t felt since the last time she had company in bed. Her moan that follows is unfiltered, shameless, raw. He moans softly into her neck, out of expectation more than pleasure.

She tugs on his trousers the little she can without risking hurting him - it is a delicate area after all, and her claws are sharp. He obeys her wish, loosening them, taking them off as she unstraddles him to clumsily assists with removing his shoes. Their clothes now out of the way, she enjoys the sight of his determined lust, poking upwards to one side, slightly twitching, as if begging to be touched. As she lies down with him, he tips her onto her back, his tongue finding hers, his hand again seeking her pleasure.

He takes his time with her, and isn’t afraid to let her return the favor despite her claws, eyes veiled with lust as he's lying next to her, their bodies entangled, hands and mouths cherishing warm and salty skin. He applies one finger, two - she is soaked by now, every inch of her ready for more, and judging by the impressive stiffness of his cock against her palm, he is too. As she massages him slowly, he sighs into her neck, jawline, mouth, whichever he is savoring at the time.

They are both panting hard when Fran decides enough is enough. She moves with desperation to rearrange her limbs - he follows her lead and settles over her with equal haste. She tilts her hips - he is hard enough to not require much direction - the head of his stiffness at her entrance tickling her beyond insanity. He holds his breath as he sinks his weight to her, sliding into her, rock hard and very persistent. He then sighs loudly; she gasps, the sensation hitting her like a tree trunk to the head. She was right about his cock. As Humes in general he has nothing on a Viera, but it is enough, especially in the state it is right now. He moves, adjusting his rhythm to her breathing, soft but still demanding, like he could do this all night and then possibly during most of tomorrow as well.

She tries to be quiet, she tries and finds that she fails, because she is finally being properly done and it is wonderful. She is flushed with sensation and it is hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything, except moving her body with his, her climax starting to build deep down inside her.

Evidently it sounds like he is beginning to lose control. “If you can wait”, she pants between kisses, “I’d want it, but it isn’t important--” At that he slows, readjusts, kisses her cheek. “Tell me how”, he says, voice rugged.

It takes some time - delightful time. Fran does not know how long they have been doing this when he is doing it just right, just right, right enough she can no longer control her moans. All she wants is _more_ , _hard_ and _now_ \- she does not notice how Balthier is struggling to stay in control, how he must be thinking about glossair rings, gun oil or sky maps - it is something she will realize later. But he does stay in control, and right before she comes she is thinking _I am coming_ and then it is as if the sky falls down, smacks them in the head and flips everything upside down, because she is seeing stars, she is wading in them, waves of sky washing over her, again and again. She hears someone moan uncontrollably in the far distance, a male voice, not hers - it goes on for some time too, the waves softening meanwhile, his voice sounding almost pained, before it fades into rasped breathing - and then she is back in Balthier’s arms, hot, flushed, complete, their hearts racing, putting her arms around him, holding him tighter than she ever knew she would ever want.

Moments pass and she is still holding onto him, looking at the stars glimmering in the night sky above them - this time not washing over her, but blinking quietly against a dark curtain. It's the same sky they have watched together many times from the cockpit of the Strahl, except now her back is naked against soft ground instead of resting against her co-pilot seat, and Balthier isn't sitting in the chair next to her with his knee propped up, he is instead so very close, still inside her, his breath warm against her neck.

He musters up the energy to be a proper gentleman and kiss her softly before rearranging himself to lie beside her. They both lie on their backs like that for a while, their breaths slowly returning to normal. He strikes the inside of her arm very softly. She does not know if it’s a wish or a courtesy - she is guessing the latter. Balthier knows how to treat his women. She is happy she got the chance to experience it, after all this time of greeting his blushing lovers in the doorway on the Strahl.

“I don’t know why you decided all of a sudden this would be a good idea”, he finally says, “but I’m glad you did.”

She smiles softly, her eyes closed. “I am glad as well. I have no regrets.” Her ears flicks content. “A parting gift of some kind, perhaps?”

He pauses, then turns over to his side facing her, his head resting on his biceps. He starts stroking her stomach lightly with the other.

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugs. “Hume lives are short, and you have yet many roles to play. It’s the only sensible way that you move on, Balthier. I will soon have no role to play in your life.”

Balthier stares at her with part disbelief, part anger and part hurt. His stroking movement stops.

He then closes his eyes, shakes his head and makes a frustrated sound.

“Are you leaving, is that what you’re saying? Fran, what piece of information did you succeed to silence from me this time?”

Fran takes a moment. She is only accepting the truth both of them will eventually know. She turns to look at him. “We’ve flown for many years, and for that I am eternally grateful. But you’re not going to stay young forever, Balthier. In my lifetime as Viera I have seen many immortal young men grow up to be careful, respectable men. You will be one too, and when you do, there will be no room for Strahls and Frans. The only wish I have”, she says - and realizes her voice is choking up, something she did not expect to happen - she has to gather herself before she finishes, her voice thin - “is that you don’t forget me.”

It is as if Balthier in his amazement has forgotten how to breathe for a moment. He studies her, his eyes clear as day.

“Fran you dumb pair of Viera ears” he says softly. “My life span might be short and violent, but I will never in my life forget you. You’ve been there through all of it - well, most of it, and you’re gonna be there for a lot more, if I have my way.” He strikes her jaw softly with the back of the fingers of one hand. “For all your cleverness and experience you still fail to see that it is not only you who gets to choose her fate. Let me be the one to decide what I want or not. You have been wrong with your fortune telling before, as you are wrong now.” He smiles. “Terribly wrong. ”

Fran is known to not speak, but this is the first time in her life she has absolutely no words. She, who thinks she knows most there is to know, has seen everything - is yet again surprised by the behavior of this short lived race called Humes. More than that, she is delighted to not knowing - delighted to not seeing, to have been wrong -  to learn that for all of her years, she is still young, still has a lot to learn - most of all, about her partner, of whom she believed she knew it all. He is right. In all this fortune telling of what Balthier wants and will eventually want, she failed to recognize the strongest voice in Balthier’s life - Balthier himself.

For all her years, it is yet again him who teaches her.

Finally she seems to be able to form words, albeit very tiny ones, softly escaping her lips. “It isn’t over”, she words, wondering if she herself meant it a question or a statement.

Balthier chuckles, then studies her for the longest time, as if he has this idea he needs to plan out before sharing. “It was never about the Strahl” he says finally.

She knows what he means.

 


End file.
